


The Guardian Sucks at the Crucible

by Reign_of_Rayne



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Iron Banner, The Crucible - Freeform, the title says it all, when you're a god at PvE but a mess at PvP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Rayne/pseuds/Reign_of_Rayne
Summary: Hivebane, KingKiller, Godkiller, Rivensbane...and utterly, shockingly, jaw-droppingly inept at taking on other Guardians in the Crucible.





	The Guardian Sucks at the Crucible

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Yeehaw? Yeehaw.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/492055) by clovis-bray-ate-my-son. 



Everyone knows about the Guardian. Legendary to the point of being mythical, they have until this point avoided the Crucible. Shaxx tries not to take it personally; this Guardian has always had more pressing matters to deal with, even if, in Shaxx's humble opinion, no one is above the intense training the Crucible offers.

Still, he can hardly fault them for prioritizing the City. They are, after all, the one who put an end to Crota and then, when Oryx came, put an end to him as well; the one who reclaimed their Light and used it to end Ghaul and break the Red Legion; the one who avenged Cayde-6; the one who ventured into the Awoken’s mythical Dreaming City and slew the Taken Ahamkara that poisoned it. There seems to be no end to their triumph. They are a slayer of gods and monsters, unmatched by any force the Darkness can throw at them.

So when the Guardian does finally enter the Crucible—during the Iron Banner, no less—Shaxx watches closely. Lord Saladin, a few monitors away, notices Shaxx’s change in demeanor.

“Is there yet another Guardian who has caught your eye?” he asks.

“Your Young Wolf has joined the hunt,” Shaxx replies, and suddenly Saladin is just as interested in this particular game of control as Shaxx is, flipping his own monitor to that match.

The Guardian’s arsenal is certainly impressive. Shaxx is reasonably sure that some of the weapons they use are either banned or restricted. They hang back as their teammates rush for Zone B, firing off warning shots when the other team tries to push on Zone C.

“Did you train them to be this cautious in a fight?” Shaxx asks dryly. Lord Saladin frowns.

“The Young Wolf is a fierce warrior. I am sure—”

Saladin’s words end in a shocked cough. Shaxx blinks at the screen, sure that its display must be malfunctioning. But no, there is the Guardian’s Ghost, hovering there, right next to the rocket launcher the Guardian just used to blow themself up.

 _What a waste of heavy ammunition,_ Shaxx thinks, watching as one of the Guardian’s teammates scoops up the remaining rocket, turns, and obliterates a charging Titan. Shaxx makes a mental note to add reckless charging to his list of irritating trends in the Crucible. While effective, the technique looks rather ridiculous when a Hunter, Warlock, or even another Titan kills the offending Titan before they can make contact.

The Guardian respawns. Shaxx watches them attempt to cross the map to reach their teammates. They make no move to use cover and sprint in a straight line across the most notorious sniping lane in all the Crucible. They never even see the shot coming.

Shaxx takes a deep, centering breath as the Guardian’s body slumps to the ground. “This is your prized pupil, isn’t it?” he asks Saladin. The Iron Lord glances at him before returning his gaze to the screens.

“I have seen them take out hordes of Fallen with only a shotgun and sidearm,” he says in what is certainly not an answer. Shaxx resists the urge to snort. “This is their first venture into combat against other Guardians,” Saladin continues. “They are merely adjusting.”

Shaxx sees the attempt for justification as just that, but finds himself wanting to believe the same. Surely the slayer of Uldren would not be so pathetic as to—

“Again?” Shaxx whispers, the word slipping out unconsciously as the Guardian once more crumples under the force of their own rocket’s explosion. Saladin’s face is carved from stone.

The Guardian finally engages in a one-on-one battle. They are agile, quick to dodge and jump out of their opponent’s reach. Their shields are low, but surely they can switch to the shotgun Shaxx can see on their back and end this with one strong, decisive blow.

“NO!” Shaxx yells, slamming his fists onto the table and shattering it from the force. Saladin is gripping his own table, splintering the wood.

“Their own grenade,” he says in quiet disbelief.

“A single blow would have felled their opponent,” Shaxx rants. “One bullet. An errant _breeze_ would have done the same. Why use a grenade? _Why?_ ”

The Guardian does not ‘adjust’ as the match goes on. Shaxx watches what can only be called a pathetic display as the Guardian struggles in nearly every encounter with the other team. They get one kill: shooting someone on the other team—a blind hip-fire—and then, when both leap across a gap to shotgun each other, they hit in midair and both go tumbling to their deaths.

It is a kill in name only.

When the Guardian activates their Super, Shaxx leans forward despite himself. The Guardian’s Light is impressive for the brief glimpse he gets of it; they cloak themselves in shadow and stalk an unknowing Warlock who has been separated from his team.

This is the moment, Shaxx is sure, that the tide will turn. The Guardian is in their element, the Warlock is none the wiser, and there is no one else who can intervene. The Guardian gets closer, closer, trails of ethereal smoke drifting behind them. It will all be over in three, two—

The guardian trips. Shaxx groans, the only sound he can make, as the Guardian faceplants in the dirt and gets a shotgun to the back for their mistake. With how utterly inept the Guardian is at killing other Guardians, that was likely to be their only Super for the match.

Shaxx doesn’t look at Saladin. Saladin returns the favor.

Both Shaxx and Saladin watch with mute weariness as the Guardian slides up to another cache of heavy ammunition as it finishes transmatting into a dilapidated building. They see the Guardian switch to their rocket launcher. They observe as the Guardian jumps up, up, and aims at an opponent sniping some forty meters away. They already know what will happen, but neither can look away as the Guardian, the Young Wolf, the Hivebane, the Kingslayer, the Godslayer, hits their head on a rafter, pulls the trigger on reflex, and blows themself up for the third time in a single match.

Shaxx is numb. Saladin rests his palms on his unbroken table.

“The future of the Iron Lords,” he whispers, and lets his head fall.


End file.
